


Looks Like Love

by fortunatefolly



Category: Major Crimes (TV), The Closer
Genre: Angst?, Comfort, F/F, Lesbian Sex, ahaha, i dont know it's sex and angst, it started off as fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8456716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatefolly/pseuds/fortunatefolly
Summary: Their anniversary plans are ruined when Major Crimes gets assigned a critical missing case.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/gifts).



> hey [sarken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken) \- hope this week is a little less stressful!

Sharon sighs loudly as she digs around inside her purse. She’s standing in front of her condo door after running a case for almost three days nonstop, and she can’t find her damn keys. It only serves to exacerbate her already frayed nerves. This was supposed to be a quiet, romantic weekend for her and Brenda. 

“What do you want to do for our anniversary?” Brenda had asked almost a week ago. After a grueling few months of work for them both, they had agreed on a quiet weekend at home, phones off, no disturbances. Timing was going to be perfect too. Rusty started at UCLA last week and moved into the dorms, Brenda made sure to clear her schedule so she wouldn’t have to go into the office, and Sharon had taken herself off the call out list, had made sure to tell everybody that she wouldn’t be coming in except for an emergency.

Except every phone in the murder room had started ringing in chorus around 4pm on Friday afternoon, right as Sharon was packing her bag to leave. She had sighed loudly and stuck her head out the door.

“We’ve got two missing children, siblings, 5-year-old girl and 7-year-old boy, ma’am,” Julio had said, holding the receiver in his hand.

“Captain, I’m sure we can manage without you,” Lieutenant Provenza had said. Had given her an understanding look, as though he somehow knew what this weekend was supposed to be. 

Sharon had sighed and reached for her cell, called Brenda and told her she would be late. Had called seven more times over the next two days, first with promises of coming late, later with apologies for not being able to come home at all. Brenda, of course, had been patient and loving, had even ordered a mountain of food to be delievered to the murder room on Saturday night.

It had taken them almost a whole day to find both children. Dead. Buried in plastic trash bags behind an abandoned church. It had been the dad, who had decided if he couldn’t have his ex-wife, she couldn’t have their children. 

And now she can’t find her damn keys. She takes a deep breath and drops her shoulders, clenches her jaw before she forces herself to relax. She sighs and pats around, feels the bulge of her keys in her jacket pocket.

It’s Sunday now. The clock in her car had said it was almost 10pm when she pulled into the parking garage. She wouldn’t be surprised if Brenda is already in bed. She had texted around dinnertime, as soon as they got the confession from the dad, telling Brenda she would be home soon. When she had texted to say she was leaving PAB, several hours later, she hadn’t heard back, had assumed Brenda was asleep.

Sharon quietly closes the door, turns around and sees a pair of bare feet sticking out from the end of the couch, red polish on the toenails. She pulls off her shoes and tiptoes over, sees Brenda wrapped up in a blanket, sleeping soundly on the couch. On the coffee table are two glasses of wine, one full of white wine and one almost empty, a little bit of red wine pooled at the bottom. Several boxes of unopened take-out sit next to the wine.

Sharon’s heart flutters at the sight, then she gets run over with a sickening sense of guilt. Brenda had gone out of her way to do something so wonderful and Sharon had been stuck at work, her mind still stuck at that abandoned church, haunted by the lifeless faces of those children.

“Hey,” Sharon says softly, running her hand down the length of Brenda’s arm.

Brenda stirs, and then peeks her eyes open, one at a time. 

“Oh, hey,” she says, her voice coarse and rough. “You’re back.” She sits up and the blanket falls down her body, revealing a bare torso and a very lacy, black bra.

“Oh,” she says, grabbing the blanket and pulling it back up. “When did you get back?”

“Just now,” Sharon says.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” Brenda says.

“I’m sorry. Things ran so late,” Sharon says.

“Did you guys solve the case?” Brenda asks, standing up and offering Sharon and terribly tantalizing view as she secures the blanket around her. Brenda’s in nothing but her underwear. She had apparently been waiting with dinner and wine and lingerie while Sharon had just been stuck listening to a sick psychopath talk about murdering his own children.

“We did,” Sharon says, coming around and sitting on the couch. She reaches for the wine, ignores the tepid temperature and downs half of it in one gulp. 

“Not good?” Brenda asks, and Sharon shakes her head.

They try not to talk about work when they’re home. It had been a mutual decision. Brenda knew the temptation would be too much, the desire to jump in and help with the murders. And Sharon wanted autonomy over her job. Occasionally she’ll bounce ideas off Brenda when she is stuck, but otherwise, they try to keep work at work.

“I’m sorry honey,” Brenda says, wrapping an arm around Sharon’s shoulder and Sharon falls into her, tucking her head into her neck as they fall against the back of the couch.

“He murdered his own kids,” Sharon whispers, her hands clutching at the blanket. She feels a tear roll down her cheek, and then Brenda’s lips against the top of her head. 

“I’m sorry,” Brenda whispers, and Sharon just clutches the blanket harder. If there is anyone in the world who understands how she feels right now, it’s Brenda. Dealing with the lowest denominator of the human condition. Brenda did it for seven years before she couldn’t anymore. Sharon wonders how much more time she has left in her.

“I’m sorry for ruining our night,” Sharon says, wiping away her tears.

“Not your fault,” Brenda says. 

“And our weekend,” Sharon says.

“Again, not your fault,” Brenda says. “Trust me, it’s not your fault.”

Sharon pulls back and nods.

“Thank you for going through all the trouble,” Sharon says, and Brenda just smiles sadly and wipes away more of Sharon's tears, nods. “And you look really pretty.” She does. She’s got just enough makeup on, like she’s going for a day at the beach. And she’s curled her hair in big, wavy curls, the way Sharon loves the most.

Brenda laughs through her nose. “Thanks,” she says. She leans in and presses a kiss to Sharon’s cheek. Sharon closes her eyes, revels in the warmth and softness of Brenda’s lips against her skin. 

“Sorry your case was so hard,” she whispers, resting her forehead against Sharon’s temple. Sharon turns and kisses Brenda then, softly.

“Thank you for being so understanding,” Sharon murmurs against her lips.

She kisses her again, and it helps, with ebbing away the darkness that has slowly enveloped her over the last few days. Soft kisses from Brenda help chase away the darkness, and they keep kissing like that, lips moving against lips, until Sharon threads her fingers into Brenda’s hair, takes her bottom lip between her teeth and Brenda moans.

Brenda pulls away then, as far as she can with Sharon’s hands in her hair.

“You must be tired. Wanna go to bed?” she gasps.

“No,” Sharon says, pulls Brenda towards her again and kisses her. Except this time, she’s kissing with intention, with purpose, and Brenda moans, the blanket sliding from her shoulders as she reaches out to divest Sharon of her blazer. 

Sharon feels on edge. She thought that once they found the children, then the killer, she would be exhausted the way she normally is after a case. Exhausted and disgusted with humanity and completely spent of energy. Except this time the adrenaline still courses through her, sickening and sticky, making her feel like she’s standing on a tightrope, unable to let go. And Brenda must feel her desperation, her need for something, anything to release the anxiety and emotion pent up inside of her. Because she throws Sharon’s blazer aside, throws her glasses on the coffee table and pulls her shirt over her head. 

And Sharon doesn’t stay still either, her hands gliding over Brenda’s mostly naked body, her fingers tracing the strong lines of her muscles, up her thighs, over her trembling stomach, underneath the straps of her bra. She brings her hands around, grabs Brenda’s breasts, the lace of her bra scratching her palms. But then Brenda grabs her wrists, pushes her arms to the back of the couch, spreads them out. She presses down firmly, like she wants Sharon to grab the back of the couch.

Sharon groans in frustration, tries to lift her hands off the couch, but Brenda presses her hands back down.

“Trust me,” she says, kissing down her neck. “Let me do this for you,” she whispers, and Sharon swallows, nods.

Brenda reaches back and pulls off the clasp of Sharon’s bra, but with her arms confined to the couch, her breasts spill out underneath once the clasp is free. The bra just hangs there as Brenda grabs a breast and traces her nipple with the tip of her tongue. Sharon’s hips squirm, but then Brenda licks right up the middle of her brerast before sucking and Sharon throws her head back, cries out as her hips jerk up against Brenda’s.

Brenda pulls one of Sharon’s arms up, pulls off the bra, and then puts the arm back in its place. Does the same with the other arm, throws the bra behind her before her hands open the button of Sharon’s pants. She tugs as Sharon lifts, pulling her pants and underwear off with one motion.

Brenda kisses down her body, then crawls off her lap, pushes the coffee table with the back of her legs so she has a little space in front of the couch.

“Here,” she says, tugging the back of Sharon’s legs so her hips are on the edge of the couch, her feet resting on the edge of the coffee table. 

And then Brenda leans in and licks and Sharon throws her head back as she feels Brenda’s tongue run up the entire length of her slit. She does it again before she licks circles, uses her fingers to part her lips and blows and Sharon whimpers. Brenda takes her time, wanders around like she’s exploring before she presses her fingers inside, holds them still as Sharon clenches around them.

Sharon pulls her head up from the back of the couch and startles at the reflection in the balcony windows. She can see herself on the couch, completely naked, legs spread open, and Brenda’s blonde curls bobbing between her legs. It sends another spike of pleasure down her spine, and she cries out , her legs jerking as Brenda enters her and splits her fingers wide.

The coffee table slips away from her as she pushes with her feet. The legs of the table scratch against the hardwood, but Brenda doesn’t stop. She just lifts one of Sharon’s legs and throws it over her own shoulder, setting the other one back down on the floor. 

With every lick, Sharon feels life and warmth filling her up again, like Brenda is drawing her back out of the abyss. Her hands tremble, growing white as she clutches the couch. She doesn’t think she can hold on much longer, and she looks down, wants to reach down and touch Brenda’s hair, wants to feel connected.

And like Brenda has read her mind, she reaches up and wiggles her fingers at one of Sharon’s arm. Sharon places her hand in Brenda’s, and Brenda guides it to the back of her head. They both sigh in relief. And just when she thinks the pleasure is going to be too much, Brenda sucks her clit into her mouth, flicks her tongue against it and doesn’t stop until Sharon is crying and thrusting against her face. Brenda keeps working her tongue until Sharon’s cries die down, until her back collapses against the couch.

She feels sweat roll down her face, and Brenda slowly kisses back up her body until she is straddling her, her hips resting on Sharon’s bare legs as her arms bracket her head.

“Feel better?” Brenda asks, and Sharon lifts her head, nods.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice hoarse and scratchy. She finally feels emptied and relaxed, like somebody has unscrewed one of her valves and let all of the anxiety and adrenaline and frustration drain out of her.

Brenda smiles, lets Sharon wrap her arms around her.

“Wanna go to bed?” she asks, and Sharon shakes her head.

She’s exhausted and burnt out but she also wants to feel Brenda, wants to feel her come, wants to feel like she has some semblance of control in her life. She lays her hands flat on Brenda’s waist, traces them slowly up her back until she hits the clasp.

“This is so beautiful on you,” Sharon says, tracing her hands around her body until they are once again filled with Brenda’s breasts. “Is it new?”

“Mhmm,” Brenda says, closing her eyes as Sharon massages her breasts. “I picked it out for this weekend.”

“Mm,” Sharon says, pulling a cup aside and pinching a nipple. Brenda lets out a strained cry. 

“I’ve got a few more,” she says, biting her lip as Sharon rolls the nipple between her fingers. “But we didn’t have time.”

“No, we didn’t,” Sharon says, reaching behind with her free hand and undoing the clasp. “I guess I’ll have to wait to see them.”

“Yes, you will,” Brenda sighs, her hips now squirming as Sharon leans down and sucks a breast into her mouth. She swirls her tongue in circles around the edge of the nipple before she grabs it with her teeth, pulls. Brenda cries and grinds her hips down into Sharon’s.

Sharon traces her hands down and Brenda tugs her face up for a kiss. Brenda is wet and slippery, her arousal dripping down to her thighs. Sharon smirks against Brenda’s lips, doesn’t bother taking off the black thong, just pushes it aside as she rubs and Brenda thrusts her hips down again.

She lets out a frustrated whimper when Sharon pulls her hand away. But Sharon traces the top of her thong before she slips her hand it over the edge, rubs circles around her clit and Brenda moans and slams her hips back down.

“In,” she gasps against Sharon’s lips. “Go in,” she pleads, and Sharon nods, tugs the underwear down enough so she can slip her fingers inside and Brenda moans. 

Brenda leans forward a little, the way she always does when she needs more pressure, so Sharon presses her thumb right against Brenda’s clit and she moans in relief. She grabs Sharon’s free hand, presses it against her breast.

Sharon squeezes and Brenda moans, her hips thrusting steadily against her hand. It doesn’t take her long, to cry and come with one last, heavy thrust. Sharon kisses her neck as Brenda wails, feels the vibration of her cries against her lips.

When Brenda can’t take anymore, her legs collapse and she falls back into Sharon’s lap, her head falling into the crook of Sharon’s neck as she catches her breath. Sharon caresses her hands up and down her back, feels the corners of her lips tugging into a tired smile. No matter how awful her job is, she can always come home to this, to love. 

Brenda finally catches her breath and pulls back, runs the back of her hand down Sharon’s jaw.

“Happy anniversary,” she whispers.

“Happy anniversary,” Sharon whispers back, pulls her in for a kiss, a long unhurried kiss.

“Now do you wanna go to bed?” Brenda asks.

“In a little bit,” she says, pulling Brenda back into her arms, wanting to enjoy the warmth for just a little bit longer.


End file.
